by Robin Hobb
"It's all right, Etta. Just cry it out. These emotional storms are to be expected, in your condition."
She sat up on the bed abruptly, her face mottled red and white, her cheeks shining with smeared tears. Then she swung. He saw her clenched fist coming, and almost managed to evade the punch. It clipped the point of his chin, clacking his teeth together and jolting stars into his eyes. He recoiled, his hand going to his jaw as he stood. "What was that for?" he demanded, shocked.
"For being stupid. For being blind, as they say only women are blind. You are an idiot, Wintrow Vestrit! I don't know why I ever wasted my time on you. You know so much, but you learn nothing at all. Nothing!" Her face suddenly crumpled again. She dropped her face to her knees and rocked back and forth like a disconsolate child. "How could I have ever been so stupid?" she moaned. Sitting up, she reached for him.
Hesitantly, he sat down on the bed beside her. When he tried to pat her on the shoulder, she came into his arms instead. She put her face against his shoulder and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. He held her, gingerly at first, and then more firmly. He had never held a woman in his arms before. "Etta," he said softly. "Etta, my dear." He dared to stroke her shining hair.
The door opened. Wintrow startled, but did not release her. He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be guilty about. "Etta is not herself," he told Kennit hastily.
"Indeed. That may be a relief, if whoever she is can behave better than the real Etta," he returned churlishly. "Brawling in the corridor like a common guttersnipe." When Etta did not lift her head from Wintrow's shoulder, he went on sarcastically, "I do hope I'm not interrupting you two. A small matter like my face bleeding or my clothes being filthy should not distress either of you."
To Wintrow's amazement, Etta slowly lifted her head. She looked at Kennit as if she had never seen him before. Something passed between them in that look, something Wintrow was not privy to. It seemed to break the woman, but she wept no more. "I'm finished," she said brokenly. "I'll get up and find…"
"Don't bother," Kennit snarled as she stood. "I can see to my own needs. Go to Jola instead. Tell him to signal Captain Sorcor to send a boat for you. I think it will be better if you stay aboard the Marietta for a time."
Wintrow expected an outburst at those words, but Etta stood silent. She looked different. Slowly he realized the change in her. Usually, when she looked at Kennit, her eyes shone and a glow of love suffused her. Now she stared at him, and it was as if her life were draining out of her. When she spoke, her capitulation was complete. "You are right. Yes. That would be best." She lifted her hands and rubbed her face as if awakening from a long dream. Then, without another word or glance, she left the room.
Wintrow stared after her. This could not be happening None of it made sense to him. Then, "Well?" Kennit demanded icily. His cold blue stare swept Wintrow head to foot.
Wintrow came to his feet. His mouth was dry. "Sir, I don't think you should send Etta away, not even for her own safety. Instead, as soon as possible, we should remove Althea from the ship. Her mind is turned. Please, sir, take pity on the poor woman and let me send her home We are only a few days from Divvytown. I can pay her passage home on one of the trading vessels that comes to Divvytown now. The sooner she is gone, the better for all of us."
"Really?" Kennit asked dryly. "And what makes you think you have any say at all in what I do with Althea?"
Wintrow stood silent, numbed by Kennit's words.
"She is mine, Wintrow. To do with as I will." Kennit turned away from him and began to disrobe. "Now. Fetch me a shirt. That is all I require of you just now. Not thinking, not deciding, not even begging. Fetch me a clean shirt and lay out trousers for me. And get me something to clean this cut." As Kennit spoke, he was unbuttoning his soiled shirt. His jacket already lay on the floor. Without thinking about it, Wintrow moved to obey him. The anger coursing through him obliterated all thought. He set out the clean clothing, and then found a cloth and cool water for Kennit. The cut was small, and already closed. Kennit wiped the blood from his brow and tossed the wet cloth disdainfully to the floor. Wintrow retrieved it silently. As he returned it to the washbasin, he found the control to speak again.
"Sir. This is not a good time for you to send Etta away. She should be here. With you."
"I think not," Kennit observed lazily. He held out his wrists for Wintrow to button his cuffs. "I prefer Althea. I intend to keep her, Wintrow. You had best get used to the idea."
Wintrow was aghast. "Will you hold Althea here, against her will, while you banish Etta to Sorcor's ship?"
"It will not be against her will, if that is what upsets you. Your aunt has already indicated that she finds me a comely man. In time, she will come to accept her role beside me. Today's little… incident was an aberration. She merely needs more time to rest and adapt to the changes in her life. You need not be troubled on her behalf."
"I will see her. I will speak— What was that?" Wintrow lifted his head.
"I heard nothing," Kennit replied disdainfully. "Perhaps you should join Etta on board the Marietta until It was his turn to stop in midsentence. His eyes widened.
"You felt it, too," Wintrow said accusingly. "A struggle. Inside the ship herself."
"I felt no such thing!" Kennit replied hotly.
"Something is happening," Wintrow declared. Bolt had taught him to dread his connection to the ship. He felt his link to her roiling with turmoil, yet he feared to reach toward her.
"I feel nothing," the pirate declared disdainfully. "You imagine it."
"Kennit! Kennit!" It was a long, drawn-out call, threatening in its intensity. Wintrow felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
Kennit shrugged hastily into his fresh jacket and straightened his collar and cuffs. "I suppose I should go and see what that is about," he said, but Wintrow could see his nonchalance was feigned. "I imagine the little fracas in the corridor has upset the ship."
Wintrow made no reply, except to open the door for Kennit. The pirate hastened past him. Wintrow followed him more slowly. As he passed Althea's door, he heard the low murmur of a voice. He stopped to listen, his ear close to the jamb. The poor woman was talking to herself, her voice so low and rapid that he could not make out any words. "Althea?" He tried the door, but the lock on it was stout. He stood a moment in indecision, then hastened after Kennit.
He had nearly reached the door when Etta entered the companionway. She walked very straight and tall, and her face was impassive. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Of course not." Her voice was soft and flat. "Sorcor has a boat on its way. I must gather a few things."
"Etta, I spoke to Kennit. I asked him not to send you away."
She seemed to vanish in stillness. Her voice came from far away. "I suppose you meant well by that."
"Etta, you should tell him you're with child. It might change everything."
"Change everything?" Her smile was brittle. "Oh, Kennit has already changed everything, Wintrow. There is no need for me to add to it."
She started to walk away. He dared to reach out and take her arm to restrain her. "Etta, please. Tell him." He clenched his jaws to keep from saying more. Perhaps if Kennit knew that she was pregnant, he would not set her aside to claim Althea. Surely, it would change his heart. What man could remain unmoved by such news?
Etta shook her head slowly, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. "Wintrow, Wintrow. You still don't understand, do you? Why do you think I was so shaken? Because I'm pregnant? Because she struck Kennit and made him bleed?"
Wintrow shrugged in helpless silence. Etta leaned her head closer to his. "I wanted to kill her. I wanted to do whatever I had to do to her to make her be silent. Because she was speaking the truth, and I couldn't stand to hear it. Your aunt is not mad, Wintrow. At least, no more mad than any woman becomes after rape. She spoke the truth."
"You can't know that." His mouth was so dry he could scarcely form the words.
<
br /> Etta closed her eyes for an instant. "For women, there is an outrage that cannot be provoked in any other way. I looked at Althea Vestrit, and I recognized it. I have seen it too often. I have felt it myself."
Wintrow glanced at the locked door. The betrayal numbed him. Believing her hurt too much. He clung to doubt. "But why didn't you confront him?"
She looked deeply into his eyes, turning her head as if she were trying to see how he could be so foolish. "Wintrow. I have told you. Hearing the truth was bad enough. I don't want to live it. Kennit is right. It is best that I stay on the Marietta for a time."
"Until what?" Wintrow demanded.
She shrugged one shoulder stiffly. The gleam of tears sprang into her eyes again. Her voice was tight as she said very quietly, "He may weary of her. He may want me back." She turned away. "I have to gather my things," she whispered hoarsely.
This time, when she stepped away from him, he let her go.
They were all looking at him. Kennit could feel the eyes of every crewman tracking his progress as he made his way forward. He dared not hurry. The spat between the two women had been bad enough. They would not witness him racing to the ship's summons, no matter how urgent.
"Kennit!" The figurehead threw back her head and bellowed the word. In the twilit waters beside the ship, the serpents arched into sight and dove again with lashing tails. The sea around the ship seethed with the ship's agitation. He gritted his teeth to keep his expression bland and limped on. Althea had left several bruises that were starting to ache. The ladder to the foredeck was annoying, as always, and all the while he struggled, the ship shouted his name. By the time he reached her, sweat coated him.
He took a breath to steady his voice. "Ship. I'm here. What do you want?"
The figurehead swiveled to look at him and he gasped. Her eyes had gone green, not a serpent green, but a human green, and her features had lost the reptilian cast they had assumed of late. She did not entirely look as Vivacia had, but this was definitely not Bolt. He almost stepped back from her.
"I'm here, too. What do I want? I want Althea Vestrit out here on the foredeck. I want her companion, Jek, as well. And I want them here now."
His mind raced. "I'm afraid that isn't feasible, Bolt," he ventured. He used the name deliberately, and waited for her response.
The ship gave him the most disdainful look he had ever endured from a feminine face. "You know I am not Bolt," she replied.
"Are you Vivacia, then?" he asked soberly.
"I am myself, in my entirety," she replied. "If you must name me by a name, then address me as Vivacia, for that part of me is as integral as the plank I was built from. But I did not call you to discuss my name or identity. I want Althea and Jek brought here. Now."
"Why?" he countered, his voice as controlled as hers.
"To see them for myself. To know that they are not being ill-treated."
"Neither of them have been ill-treated!" he declared indignantly.
The lines of the ship's mouth went flat. "I know what you did," she said bluntly.
For a moment, Kennit stood in the center of a great stillness. In all directions, it led to disaster. Had his luck finally deserted him? Had he finally made the one error that was not correctable? He took a breath. "Are you so swift to believe such evil of me?"
Vivacia glared at him. "How can you ask me something like that?"
She was not absolutely certain. He read it in her response. Once, she had cared for him, in a gentler way than Bolt had. Could he rouse that in her again? He ran his hand soothingly along the railing. "Because you see, not with your eyes, but with your heart. Althea believes she experienced something horrible. And so you believe her." He paused dramatically. He let his voice drop. "Ship, you know me. You have been inside my mind. You know me as no one else can." He took a chance. "Can you believe that I am capable of such a thing?"
She did not answer him directly. "It is the greatest wrong that can be done to a female, human or dragon. It affronts and disgusts me on all levels. If you have done this, Kennit, it is irreparable. Not even your death could atone for it." There was more than human fury repressed in her voice: there was a cold reptilian implacability. It went beyond revenge and retaliation to annihilation. It sent a chill up his spine. He gripped her railing to steady himself. His voice was tight with self-justification when he spoke.
"I assure you, I intend no harm at all to Althea Vestrit. Hurting her, offending her would run counter to all my hopes for her." He took a great breath and confided in the ship, "Truth be told, in the few days since she came aboard, I have conceived a great fondness for her. My feelings for her bewilder and confuse me. I am not sure how to deal with them." Those words, at least, rang with honesty.
A long silence followed his words. Then she asked quietly, "And what of Etta?"
Who was stronger in the ship, Bolt or Vivacia? Bolt had seemed to like Etta: Vivacia had never disguised her jealousy of her. "I am torn," Kennit admitted. "Etta has been at my side a long time. I have seen her grow far beyond the common whore I rescued from Bettel's bagnio. She has bettered herself in many ways, but she must suffer in comparison to Althea." He paused, and sighed lightly. "Althea is altogether a different sort of woman. Her birth and her breeding show in every movement she makes. Yet there is a competency to her that I find very attractive. She is more like… you. And I confess, part of the attraction is that she is so much a part of you. The same family that shaped you created her. To be with her is, in a sense, to be with you." He hoped she would find that flattering. He held his breath, waiting.
Around them the night deepened. The serpents became disembodied sounds, their odd singing mingled with the random splashes of their passage. As the darkness became complete, the brief flashes of their gleaming, scaled bodies lit the waters around the ship.
"You killed Paragon," she said quietly. "I know that. Bolt saw it. I have her memories."
He shook his head. "I helped Paragon die. It was what he wanted. It was what he had tried to do for himself so many times. I only made it easier for him."
"Brashen was dear to me." The ship's voice was choked.
"I am sorry. I did not realize that. In any case, the man was a true captain to the end. He would not leave his ship." There was regretful admiration in his voice. He went on more quietly, "You have Bolt's memories. Then you will remember she wanted Althea dead. I refused that. What does she remember of Althea's 'rape'?" His lips scarce touched the word.
"Nothing," the ship admitted. "She refused to touch minds with Althea. But I know what Althea recalls."
Relief fueled his voice with kindness. "And Althea recalls a nightmare, a poppy dream, not a reality. Such dreams are especially vivid. I do not blame her, or you, for believing her nightmare was real. I blame myself. I should not have given her poppy syrup. I meant no harm, only to help her rest and give her time to absorb the tragedy that had changed her life."
"Kennit, Kennit," the ship burst out in an anguished voice. "You have become precious to me. It gives me pain even to try to believe such things of you. For me to admit such a horrendous act by you means I must admit I have been duped and deceived as to all you are. If it is true, it will make lies of all truths there have ever been between us." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Please, please, tell me she is mistaken. Tell me you could not have done such an odious thing."
What one wants to believe badly enough becomes real. "I will show you my proof. I will have Althea and Jek brought to you. You will see for yourself that they have taken no harm while in my care. Althea may have a few bruises, but," he chuckled deprecatingly, "probably fewer than she gave me. She is not a large woman, but she is spirited."
A faint smile came to the ship's face. "She is that. She has always been that. You will bring her here?"
"Immediately," he promised. He turned his head as Wintrow came up onto the foredeck. Kennit watched his face as he got his first look at the transfigured figurehead. His dark eyes, so troubled an instant before
, kindled. Life came back to Wintrow's face, flowing into it as if he were a carved statue awakening. He started forward eagerly. Kennit lurched to stand between them. That would not do. The ship was his; he could not let Wintrow reassert a claim to her.
Swiftly, he took a ring of keys from his pocket. "Here, lad!" he exclaimed and tossed it. The keys flashed in the ship's lantern light before Wintrow caught it. As their eyes met, the light of his joy in Vivacia dimmed. He gave Kennit an oddly measuring look. Kennit read it plainly. Wintrow wondered whom to believe. The pirate shrugged it off. To wonder was not to know. His luck was holding. He considered the boy through the darkness. With a wrench, he wondered if he could part with Wintrow if he had to. The idea dismayed him. But if Wintrow forced him to it, then it must be done in a way that did not compromise his luck, nor alienate the crew. Perhaps he could die in selfless service to Kennit. That might, perhaps, be arranged. The crew might find it inspiring to witness such dedication. He looked at him, mourning him already, then steeled himself to the harshness of life.
"Wintrow," he exclaimed heartily. "As you can see, Vivacia has rejoined us. She desires to see your Aunt Althea. Escort her and Jek to the foredeck, please. Make them comfortable for the time being. I myself will see that Althea's old room is made more fitting for them to share." He turned back to the ship, but his words were for Wintrow as well. "I will do all I can for their comfort. You will see, in the days to come, that they are my honored guests, not prisoners."
It was cowardly, he supposed, but he freed Jek from her chains first. "Vivacia wants both you and Althea on the foredeck," he began, but before he could explain any further, the blonde woman had snatched the keys from his hands and was working on the lock. Once free, she surged to her feet and looked down on him with cold blue eyes. Serpent venom had eaten through her clothing and bared her scalded skin. Despite her injuries, she was a formidable and powerful woman. "Where's Althea?" she demanded.
She followed him through the ship, and jostled him aside at the door. She worked the lock and opened the door, only to have Althea charge into her. His aunt's shoulder caught the tall woman in the sternum. "Althea!" Jek exclaimed, and wrapped the smaller woman in her arms, containing her wildly flailing arms. "It's me, it's Jek, calm down!"
